


Newfound Heights

by Peasantaries



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Sports, Volleyball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 16:37:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13462215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peasantaries/pseuds/Peasantaries
Summary: Tobio was six when he first found volleyball.He shouldn’t have really found it in the first place. But peeking into the window of the Year 6 gym, fingers gripping the ledge, toes stretched in his trainers, he also found he didn’t really care.A Kageyama-centric journey; from discovering his first love to discovering — well, something else along those lines.





	Newfound Heights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reallycorking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reallycorking/gifts).



> Hello there! Wow, it's been a long time since I've posted anything, it feels kind of alien. This story came about from myself suffering from some writerly struggles, namely feeling inadequate in the big bad world of writing.  
> It's also a gift for RC as it was her birthday and she deserved a gift !! <333

 

Tobio was six when he first found volleyball.

He shouldn’t have really found it in the first place. But peeking into the window of the Year 6 gym, fingers gripping the ledge, toes stretched in his trainers, he also found he didn’t really care.

The rasp and screech of pounding feet on the floor, the half-caught breaths and the shouts of joy. The deafening roar of the whistle, the uncoordinated scamper of every boy in the room as they stood to attention.

But always, most tantalisingly, the round, echoed sound of a hollow volleyball.

Tobio didn’t know that’s what it was then.

But he knew he wanted to play.

The beginning of the end, some might’ve called it. Nobody really needs to know any more than that. Because that’s the story. That’s the plot.

He found volleyball, or as Tobio sometimes likes to imagine, volleyball found him; beckoned with it’s rubber smack on the hard gymnasium floor, called to him with its bright flash of colour moving too fast for his eyes.

It’s a softer idea, though. A thing that Tobio allows himself when it’s just him and the ball, just the empty floor stretched out in front of him like miles of promising road. Just the smack of his own feet, the drip of his own sweat into his eyes and the echo of his own breath around the room.

Something he lets himself believe when the gymnasium has cleared because the rest of his team are exhausted. Something he comforts himself with when he burns out yet another group of potential friends with this incessant need – _compulsion, obsession_ – to be the best.

When their eyes go wide as Tobio’s true colours begin to shine: as his voice turns bitter, his shouts grow louder.

Oikawa changes all that, of course.

But then again, Oikawa changed a lot of things.

The first time Tobio saw him fly across court, the first time he watched Oikawa’s leg muscles propel him into the air and higher than the net, only for his hand to come crashing down, it was as if something was unveiled behind Tobio’s eyes.

 _Finally,_ he thought in a breathless exhale.

Finally, Tobio saw what it meant for someone to love volleyball as much as him.

He waited behind. He bounced the ball idly between his hands, rapping it against the linoleum as he waited for everyone to leave. For Oikawa to stay behind.

Because surely, he would stay behind. He loved it as much as Tobio did.

When Tobio caught sight of him heading toward the exit, he froze, and then skidded up.

“Senpai!” He shouted.

Oikawa startled, and then turned around.

“Please teach me, senpai!” Tobio cried, and bowed as far as his back would arch, volleyball held in both hands.

There was nothing for a long moment. And then, softly, quietly; Oikawa snorted.

Tobio blinked. Then he shot up straight.

“Teach you?” Oikawa asked. His voice was higher than Tobio was expecting, a softer lilt to what he’d imagined of such strong form.

A boy stands behind Oikawa, expression set in stone.

“Teach the boy who thinks he can do a six-person job by himself?” He asked. One eyebrow rose. “You do realise this is a team sport?”

Tobio was speechless. He gaped.

The ball in his hands felt strange, too big.

“What are you, a king? King of the court, mm?” Oikawa asked, head tilting.

Tobio felt as if his throat was swelling up, causing his airways to constrict.

“King Tobio-chan? Too good for all his teammates?” Oikawa taunted.

“That’s enough, Tooru.” The boy behind him said, voice rough.

Tobio didn’t know what his face was saying for the boy behind to feel the need to interject. But he couldn’t imagine it was anything different to the biting, bitter pain that was rapidly spreading across his chest and crawling up his arms, seeping into his fingers.

Oikawa took another look at him, rolled his eyes, and left.

When Tobio came to practise the next day, he discovered the name had quickly caught on.

It was the first and last time he’s ever felt unwelcome with two feet planted on a volleyball court.

But it didn’t take long for him to adjust to the name calling; to steel his shoulders, grit his teeth, and carry on.

*

Tobio is thirteen when he watches Oikawa win the award for Best Setter.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the pain of that moment. He also doesn’t think he’ll forget the faces – not only of Oikawa and Iwaizumi, but of every single one of the other team members.

The face of every single person who played with Oikawa.

Radiant, shining joy. There wasn’t an ounce of jealously, of unhappiness, of disappointment.

Tobio must have been the only one.

_You do realise this is a team sport?_

Maybe he isn’t cut out for this. Maybe he wasn’t made to play volleyball.

He wasn’t chosen; he isn’t special, made and moulded for this sport. Maybe he isn’t meant become the best. To _be_ the best.

Maybe the best is a person who can be everything, become anything. Who can do it all. Who can be dedicated but understanding, soft but hard, a team player but an individual star.

Maybe the best is a person like Oikawa, and Tobio will never get there, because he can’t be it all.

Tobio walks home with a stolen volleyball from the gym. It’s not as if he doesn’t have a million and one at home. It’s not as if he doesn’t have volleyball-shaped cushions, along with volley-ball patterned pillowcases and a volley-ball printed duvet.

But he steals the volleyball he’s been practising with all day, bounces it along the sidewalk. He’s spent so many hours with it that the groves and curves feel familiar now, like an extended part of him. Almost like an old friend.

But a volleyball isn’t a friend.

A volleyball is a plastic rubber ball, solid and filled with air. It’s an inanimate object, and no matter how much Tobio loves it, no matter how much time and energy he pours into it, no matter how much sweat and tears he gives it, it can never love him back.

Tobio feels the anger start to build as he’s walking.

It’s as if he’s overworked his legs and not taken enough deep, measured inhales during practise. It feels like lactic acid clinging to his muscles, it feels like his whole ribcage is collapsing in on itself and crushing his lungs, it feels as if he could shed his own skin and run for a thousand miles away from everything –

“GUH!” Tobio shouts, and throws the ball in his hands at the wall.

It bounces back, of course.

He catches it easy, an instinct by now. A trained reaction.

But something about the ball infuriates him. The anger shivers up his spine, makes his bones shake. Something in the way the striped lines remain bright and colourful, the way the rubber roundness hasn’t deflated even slightly.

There’s not a scratch on it.

Tobio throws it at the wall again. And again. And then again, harder. 

Nothing.

 _“Fuck!”_ He cries. He stamps on it, but it slides underneath his foot and skids out. It’s a lost cause. He can’t burst a volleyball like a balloon.

It’s infallible; hard and consistent. It’s under nobody’s command, it chooses who to obey. But it’ll never be servant to anything. Anyone.

 _It’s a ball,_ Tobio thinks, when he realises he’s being ridiculous _._ It doesn’t choose its players. It’s doesn’t _do_ anything.

The _power_ – the choice, the ability, the skill – is the player’s, and the player’s alone.

At thirteen, Tobio feels as if he’s given everything he can to volleyball. Feels as if he’s practised harder, sweated more, and cried longer than anyone else who’s ever even touched a ball. Than anyone else physically _could_.

But he isn’t a team player. That much is obvious.

In his seven years of playing the sport, he’s never met a teammate who he wants to play with; toss to and return the ball from.

How is he meant to play a team sport, with a team, _in_ a team, when he’s never met one person that’s made him feel part of one?

Of course, it’s Hinata who changes that. But then again, Hinata changes everything.

*

Tobio is sixteen when it happens.

 _New school, new start_. This was his mantra. This was his prayer.

He steps into the gymnasium, hears the clean squeaking floor and the sound of rubber soles, and that familiar excitement rises –

Only to find a child. Or more, a boy the _height_ of a child.

Tobio stops short. _Short_ being the key word.

He freezes where he stands at the entrance, watching a _kid_ leap into the air and slam the ball across the court. His hair is practically as fluorescent as the lights, as neon as the striped lines across the volleyballs: an eye-squinting, painful shade of orange.

As if sensing Tobio’s presence, the boy turns.

His eyes are bright, but as he stares at Tobio they grow larger, his mouth falling agape.

“Y-y- you’re the King!” He shouts.

Tobio feels his heart lurch, his gut tighten.

 _Not so much of a fresh start after all_. Clearly, it’s common knowledge by now. He’s fated to fail no matter what team he plays with.

“Whatever, dumbass, this isn’t your court.” Tobio states. “Junior high is that way.” He snarks, and throws a thumb over his shoulder.

As expected, the boy’s face floods with colour a similar shade to his hair.

He flushes from his roots all the way down to his throat. Because of his t-shirt collar, it almost looks as if he’s gone through some kind of alien transformation to turn his skin entirely purple.

It’s freaky, if Tobio is being honest. Not cute. Uncute.

“Bu – gwa –” he splutters. “You – I – this is _my_ court!” He cries, and stamps a foot.

It does nothing to lessen Tobio’s assumptions of him being a child in disguise. _Uncute._

“Alright.” Tobio says, blunt. He doesn’t have much time or energy to stand and chat. “Just stay out of my way.”

“ _Will_ do.” The boy says with a hugely exaggerated swivel of his head in the opposite direction.

 _Did nobody ever teach this kid to argue?_ Tobio thinks. For some reason, amusement squirms inside him, wriggles for escape.

“Gladly.” He hears a second later, as if in afterthought.

Tobio smiles down at the volleyballs as he picks one out. Then he coughs, clears his throat and swallows it down.

*

Only, it soon becomes hard to stay out of one another’s way.

Because the rest of the team, Tobio will admit, are the best teammates he’s had.

Daichi, the captain, is thorough with each and every one of them, assessing their strengths and weaknesses with one glance and acting accordingly. Suga is kind and fair, keeping them all in line with a gentle nudge. Asahi is a gentle giant but powerful on the court, and Noya is the fire that crackles underneath him.

Tanaka is loud but consistent, dependable. Tsukishima is measured, careful, but always right. Yamaguchi will shout encouragements, always prepared to back anyone up.

Tobio can confess that he’s never played with people so dedicated to the sport, but all talented and skilled in their own individual way.

 _There’s no one way to play volleyball,_ Tobio realises.

Oikawa mirrored Tobio in every way; in his serves, his calculating tosses. Only Oikawa also represented everything that Tobio could never reach – teamwork, charm, _friendliness_.

But Karasuno is a jumbled, muddled, mixed-up group of people, and they’re starting to make Tobio feel as if he could be part of that group too.

Hinata Shouyou, though.

Tobio doesn’t quite know what to make of Hinata.

He’s the thunder and the lightening at the same time. He’s the tide along with the storm. He seems to be everything and yet _nothing_ of what a professional volleyball player should be, but for reason, that – makes it _better_.

It _works_.

“See, see!” Hinata shouts. He’s jumping up and down in front of Tobio’s face as Tobio stands on the spot and endures it.

“I’m your height … now, now, now, now –” he pants on every jump.

“That’s just me standing, dumbass.” Tobio states, hands on hips. “What happens when I jump, huh?”

He cocks an eyebrow down at Hinata, who gapes in his usual dumfound manner.

“Wu – I –” Hinata tries, spluttering for all his worth.

Tobio huffs, and tries to curb the smile forming on his face. He resists the sudden, random urge to ruffle Hinata’s dumb, bright hair. _Weird_ , Tobio thinks, and ignores it. 

It’s only as they’re leaving that Tobio frowns, realising something is missing.

And then he hears the tell-tale screech of running shoes, and turns only to find Hinata hurtling toward him full-speed.

There is a fierce, solid look of determination carved into Hinata’s features, and he’s – he’s really going to crash right into – he’s going to _forcibly_ –

Tobio stiffens in shock, his mouth parting, frozen on the –

Only for Hinata to take a running jump, legs spread, and fly right over Tobio’s head.

Tobio watches it happen.

He’s there. He couldn’t have made it up.

Hinata. _Jumps_ over Tobio’s head.

He lands on the other side rough, right leg crumpling on impact with the ground, but then he’s spinning around, wide beam set in place.

“See!” He shouts, and points a finger at Tobio’s face.

Tobio is agape.

He is. Honestly, completely, one hundred percent speechless.

And then Tobio finds his own face split apart.

“Told ya!” Hinata carries on, his eyes alight on catching sight of Tobio’s face.

Nobody has ever. Nobody _would_ ever. Even _attempt_. How could he. But how _did_.

The laughter bubbles underneath the surface. It tickles his insides like insistent fingers, until Tobio feels the first of many choked, unwilling snorts spill out of him. And then they’re _all_ spilling out, unable to be contained, too full and ever-expanding inside his lungs.

And then Tobio finds himself doubled over, booming laughter across the courtyard.

“I can jump higher than _anything_.” Hinata tells him with sincerity, hands on hips.

It’s mad, but Tobio believes him. He really does.

“A mountain?” Tobio finds himself saying anyways.

Hinata’s mouth is parted mid-speech, but then he freezes.

Tobio laughs.

“ _Bakageyama_!” Hinata huffs, conceding defeat. “Of course not! Any _one_! One!” He holds up a stretched finger.

“You didn’t say that.” Tobio reminds him, but not to argue. Just to say it. “Dumbass.” He adds with a grin.

“Yama-lama.” Hinata sings back.

Tobio feels his cheeks heat. “Wh – _dumbass_.” He repeats, stronger. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so flustered.

“Same thing.” Hinata tells him with a smirk.

*

Tobio has a dream about it.

He dreams that Hinata does it again, and again; _keeps_ doing it on the court, hopping about as if he’s some over-excited rabbit.

Only at one point, he jumps straight over Tobio and doesn’t come back down again.

Tobio whips his head around, side to side trying to find him, but Hinata is in the air, floating upwards, up, up and still going, headed for the open windows of the gymnasium, the beaming heat of the sun.

 _But, no_ , Tobio wants to say, and then suddenly finds he can’t. He tries to open his mouth, to run after Hinata, but his feet are glued to the floor, fastened to the court.

His lips are sealed shut. His throat is closed.

 _No, wait!_ He wants to cry. To scream.

Tobio wakes with a start, blinks in the darkness of his room.

 _Strange dream,_ he muses. He tries to shake the desperate fear still clinging to him. The image of Hinata leaving.

*

Their Freak-Quick is an accident.

But it’s just been so long since Tobio has even attempted his toss.

The toss that gave him his infamous name, his soiled reputation. The one that leaves all his spiker’s hands red and sore, their eyes filled with confusion, turning into anger turning into hurt.

The one that nobody seems to be able to receive.

The ball comes at flying speed during practise, and he catches it easily, fluidly, instinct overruling his head, his head that’s screaming _no no nononnono –_

Tobio sees Hinata’s open palm, and he tosses it too fast to even consider anything else. For _Hinata_ to even consider anything else.

It’s going to slap Hinata’s hand too fast and too hard when he’s not expecting it, and he going to turn to Kageyama, a frown marring his small features –

Tobio nearly closes his eyes. He nearly grimaces, turns away.

But he doesn’t. And if he had, he wouldn’t have seen Hinata’s hand come crashing down, before the ball was _anywhere_ near him, and smack in over the net the very second it’s in position.

The very _second_.

It’s. It can’t be.

Hinata falls from mid-air, and.

They’ve scored.

Tobio’s mouth falls open, before a completely inarticulate noise of joy and elation roars out from within his chest and escapes out his mouth.

Hinata turns, spins quick on his heel, expression shocked, before his mouth falls open too.

And then he’s jumping into the air.

“HAH!” He cries. “AHHHHH!”

 _“AHHHH!”_ Tobio cries, the biggest, ear-splitting grin stretching every single muscle of his face. “AHAH!” He screams.

“WAAA!” Hinata cries back.

“GAAA –” Tobio hardly realises he’s been mimicking Hinata this whole time, jumping up and down on the spot, until they’ve both jump-gravitated to one another and he’s got an armful of Hinata to hold.

“FWAAAAAA!” Hinata screeches right in his ear, but Tobio doesn’t even care, just wraps both arms around Hinata’s small frame and jumps up and down with him. He’s jiggling Hinata more than anything, but Hinata throws arms around Tobio right back, gripping just as tight and hard.

“It’s _one_ point!” Tanaka shouts.

*

After practise that day, Tobio feels over-excited; jittery and _new_. He feels as if he could do anything. He feels as if he could leap right over a mountain.

Hinata is the same, because as they’re walking to get meat-buns (a very (very) new tradition of theirs), he stops short.

“I forgot my bag!” He shouts, after patting himself down.

Tobio raises an eyebrow. “Race you.”

Hinata’s expression settles in that tantalisingly familiar way.

Sometimes he gives Tobio the same feeling that the sound of a rubber ball on linoleum floor does.

Tobio is off before Hinata even gets a chance, and Hinata must be more exhausted than he’s letting on, because Tobio ends up miles ahead.

Maybe it’s just this newfound feeling that’s shaking him up from the inside. This invincibility.

Tobio wants Hinata to feel as invincible as him. Tobio wants to _make_ Hinata invincible.

He sees Hinata’s bag lying discarded, and sprints over to it.

As he goes to pick it up, though, he notices the weight of it.

It’s heavy. Heavier than it should be.

“What’s he.” Tobio starts, before he pulls at the open flap of his rucksack, and sees what inside.

Pill bottles.

For a second, a terrifying stillness comes over Tobio.

_Why does he need pill bottles?_

He’s not sick. He can’t be sick. They still have so much to do. He needs to be on top form. They still need to – to perfect their freak-quick and get some meat buns and there’s so much Tobio wants to know, wants to _ask_ , like when did he learn to play, why does he love this sport so much, why does he make Tobio feel so –

It’s then that Tobio notices the label.

 _TestoFuel_.

He pulls it out, frowning.

_Extra Strength, Anabolic Supplement_

_Are you lacking testosterone? Need help to gain muscle and height? Guaranteed to naturally increase your strength and smash down the barriers to growth._

Tobio feels sick. He pulls out the other bottle.

_HEIGHT ENHANCE - GROWTH PILLS - GROW TALLER ENHANCER - 60 PILLS / TABLETS_

Just then, Hinata sprints in.

He sees what Tobio is holding.

“I.” Hinata starts.

“What is this.” Tobio states. He hardly recognises his own voice.

Hinata swallows. “I just.”

“Just what?” Tobio asks. “Take a magic pill and suddenly you’ll be better at volleyball?”

Hinata’s jaw clenches. “You can’t just –”

“Just what?” Tobio is angry, he’s _angry_. This is a strange anger.

It’s not because of volleyball. He’s never been angry where it’s not been because of volleyball.

“Just _say_ that!” Hinata explodes, stalking into the room. “You’ve never felt inadequate –”

 _“I’ve_ never felt _inadequate?”_ Tobio repeats, and laughs an incredulous laugh. “ _Pray tell_ , what – I mean _really_ Hinata, how would _you_ know that?”

“Because!” Hinata bursts out with, waving his arms. “I’m _short_ , okay Kageyama, that’s not something I can change, I can’t – _practise_ being taller, all you have to do is practise –”

“That’s _all_ I have to do?” Tobio shouts. “ _Really?_ There’s nothing I’ve ever come across and felt like I just couldn’t overcome, no matter how much I tried? No matter how much I _practised_?”

“Yes!” Hinata shouts, and then blinks, head tilting to the side. “Wait –”

“Fuck you, Hinata.” Tobio states. “And fuck your pills. I thought there was something wrong.” He throws Hinata’s bag down and stalks out.

“Kageyama –” Hinata begins, and starts after him.

Tobio holds up a hand, but Hinata latches onto the wrist and pulls with all his force, spinning Tobio around.

“I didn’t mean it like –” Hinata babbles.

“Do you really think I’ve never felt inadequate, Hinata?” Tobio says, and his voice can’t quite hide the hurt. “Do you honestly think that of me? That I’m of the opinion I’m absolutely perfect, I’m some kind of robot that’s never once felt  powerless over something I couldn’t change about myself?” He says. “You don’t think I haven’t wished I could get ‘friendly pills’ and suddenly be a better team member? Magically fix myself into someone new and flawless?”

Hinata’s eyes are wide, shining up at him. “That’s not the same –”

“It’s not?” Tobio asks, eyebrows raising. “The person that I am isn’t as unchangeable as your height? Huh? You think I haven’t _tried_ , Hinata?”

Hinata just stares.

“I am who I am.” Tobio states. “It comes out one way or another, no matter how much I practise at hiding it. I would have taken pills to fix it, _maybe_ , but then we would never have our quick-set. We would never be the players we are today.” Tobio swallows. “We would never. Have even _known_ one another the same way, and I.” He clenches his jaw. “I wouldn’t take the pills even if they were offered to me tomorrow.”

Hinata grip loosens, but doesn’t let go. His fingers are wrapped around Tobio’s wrist gently. “You don’t understand, Kageyama.” He tries. “I – I can’t go pro, I would be _laughed_ at –”

_Here comes King of The Court! The mighty, the famous, bow before him everyone!_

“Hinata.” Tobio starts roughly. “I’ve seen you play, okay. And your height – it’s what _makes_ you the player you are. It’s your _asset_. Nobody can just _jump_ over someone; their feet would kick them right in the head –”

Hinata lets out a startled, wet laugh.

“Can you imagine me doing that?” He continues. “I wouldn’t be able to, and not because I can’t jump, but because I’m not _small.”_

Hinata huffs.

“Who would our decoy be? Huh?” Tobio shakes Hinata’s hand with his wrist. “Who would gape at us when they realise they’ve totally underestimated one of our players? Who would – who would be _Hinata?”_

Hinata’s cheeks are scarlet.

“Alright, I don’t want you _tall_ , I don’t want.” Tobio breathes, swallows, looks down at Hinata. “I don’t _want_ you to change.”

Hinata stares at him, mouth parted, eyes wide.

“Okay? I don’t _want_ –”

Hinata tugs Tobio down, slides a hand into his hair, and kisses Tobio straight on the mouth.

Tobio stiffens.

He blinks in complete, dumb shock, before everything clicks itself into place, slots right into position.

And then Tobio pulls Hinata flush against his body and kisses back.

Hinata’s arms come up around his shoulders, gripping at the muscle there, and Tobio feels lightheaded and dizzy as he gasps against Hinata’s mouth, already breathless from just the soft press of mouth on mouth, simply from the small stature of Hinata’s body moulded to him.

Hinata is the first to pull back in a ragged inhale, but his eyes are bright and his cheeks are burning hot and he’s grinning as wide as Tobio.

“I don’t want you to take friendly pills.” Hinata breathes, the warmth of his breath ghosting across Tobio’s now-sensitive lips. “I like bakageyama the way he is.”

*

Tobio is seventeen when he discovers that being the best player in the world isn’t about being able to do everything at once. It isn’t about having every single skill available.

It’s about being the best player you possibly can, with the skillset you have. It’s about enhancing yourself so that you not only give the best performance on the court, but pull out the best performance from everyone else in the team.

It’s about discovering that maybe teammates aren’t to be feared, to be ignored.

They’re there to help you reach those heights that you couldn’t before. That you can’t _alone_. To reach newfound heights you didn’t even know you were possible of.

And with Hinata, Tobio thinks they could reach anything. Together they’re unbroken, invincible.

They could jump the height of a mountain. They could be kings.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading !!
> 
> I'm also Peasantaries on [Tumblr](https://peasantaries.tumblr.com/), [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/peasantaries), and [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/peasantaries/)! Come over and talk to me! I'll never bite <33
> 
> If you want to find ways to support me, you can find them there! (*^▽^*)( ﾉ^ω^)ﾉﾟ


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